Caught in the Cross Hairs
by the wrecker
Summary: Supervisory Special Agent Gandhi is an FBI operative who, much to her chagrin, ends up in Lexington working for the US Marshal Service. Deputy Tim Gutterson is a man running from his past, but to what, he doesn't know. Chief Deputy Art Mullen is a man on a mission - to keep his office in one piece and his deputies alive. Sarcastic humour, tragedy and angsty romance promised! TimxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is the first time I have been brave enough to publish one of my stories! I hope that you enjoy it, and if you have anything to say, either review or message me, I'd be glad to hear from you!

This is very O/C heavy, but if you bear with me, Tim, Rachel, Art and Rachel will be making a much greater appearance!

 **Disclaimer:** I am not in any way affiliated with FX. All views in my works are mine and mine alone, and any names and references used are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated by myself. I also, being from England, have very little idea how the FBI or the USMS operate. If any of my information is incorrect, please let me know and I'll be happy to correct it! 

_Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale_

'Come on in.' 

_Exhale._

G opened her eyes and stood up instinctively, flexing her fingers and looking at the man standing in front of her. To her right, her boss, James Burke, also stood, but she avoided eye contact, choosing instead to heed the invitation of the fatherly figure beckoning her into his corner office. She took a second to scope him out. Large guy, maybe late fifties. No hair but a kind face. He wore a checked shirt – as so many in this fine state of Kentucky did – with cream chinos and a tan gun holder slung around his back, Glock tucked neatly under his right arm.

G was lead into a sizeable space decorated in rich wood. Glass doors separated the office from the rest of the room, which was littered with desks and filled with busy people. On the back wall of the office was a large, bronze star bearing the American eagle, around which the words _'United States Marshal'_ were inscribed. To the left of this hung the American flag. The patriotism this room exuded was enough to make G want to turn and run. But she held fast, throwing the gentleman a warm, calculated smile. He fixed her with a slightly guarded one and gestured for her and her boss to sit across the panelled desk.

'Glad y'all could make it.' His Southern accent was strong and G stifled a smile. She loved the sound but everyone in Kentucky sounded slightly hillbilly because of it.

'Thank you for having us.' James replied coolly. G turned to look at her boss. At 45, he was one of the youngest ASAC's at an FBI office. She was proud to work with him and he was a good team leader. Every fibre of her being wanted to run back to Washington with him and continue her (almost) perfect life. But fate had dealt some shitty cards and Lexington, Kentucky was where she'd ended up on this late October day.

The gentleman in possession of the office smiled again and flipped open a file. Donning the thin, frameless glasses that hung from his neck, he began to read.

'Supervisory Special Agent Gandhi. Organised Crime division, FBI. 83% conviction rate, figured in the top 10th percentile at Quantico for training, extensive experience in firearm management and special ops.' He flipped the file shut again and took a seat himself, settling himself comfortably with an ease that said he'd enjoyed this office for a damn long time.

'You're highly qualified, I'll give you that.' He nodded approvingly at G, who remained impassive. She tried to relax into the leather seat but she was on edge just being away from home, let alone trying to adjust to the idea of working somewhere completely new.

Chief Deputy Art Mullen surveyed the young lady in front of him. She looked around the age of his eldest, maybe 26 or 27. Black hair, smooth, honey coloured skin and high cheekbones painted a pretty picture. Her credentials were faultless but it was the hunger, the ambition in her wide, amber eyes that sealed it for him.

'I'm sure that you'll make a fine addition to our team, Miss Gandhi.'

'Just G, please.' G said it without thinking and then realised she probably shouldn't have. She met the eyes of the gentleman in front of her.

'Thank you, Deputy Mullen.' She added with a genuine smile this time. This department was taking her in with no reason to do so apart from strengthening relations between the FBI and the Marshal Service.

'Just Art, please.' He countered back with a wink. G could tell they were going to get along. 

**NB** : ASAC stands for Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge for anyone who may have been wondering :)


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, G found herself standing in front of that exact office, the only difference being that her boss had abandoned her for the first flight back to DC. She was now all alone in Lexington. No friends, no family – just the way it was meant to be.

 _'_ _James, I am not going into WITSEC, so don't even entertain that idea.' G's eyes were bloodshot and her head was fuzzy after not sleeping for what felt like weeks. They had run out of options and time and the only thing left to do was to get her out of the state._

 _'_ _G, be reasonable. Your life is on the line, not to mention the lives of every person who may care about you.' Her boss was usually a funny, laid back guy, but since the incident, he had become paranoid, quick to look over his shoulder, even quicker to draw his gun. It shouldn't be this way. He shouldn't be involved; no one else should be involved. But unfortunately, there was a threat made against her, which extended to the whole of her office. And the man who issued it was no joke._

 _G collapsed into a chair in James' office. 'I can't just give up my life! That means he's won!'_

 _'_ _G, right now this isn't about winning or losing. It's about survival. I have an idea and you may not like it but it's the best shot we have got. And you get to keep your job. Well, almost you're job…'_

G had replayed the moment she had found out she was coming to Kentucky over and over in her mind the last few days. Now that she was here, it almost didn't feel real. And yet, as she glanced around this new and alien office, she began to see that it was. The Lexington marshal service had been told that she was a transferring in because she had experience in organised crime that may help with several of their investigations. The time frame on her 'lease' was unknown. No one had questioned it. No one seemed to really care. As she'd stepped out of the elevator and into her new digs, everyone had looked, but no one had stared. It wasn't a big deal to anyone but her.

 _'_ _James, I'm not a US Marshal. I'm a highly trained Bureau agent. I have absolutely no idea what they do!'_

 _Her boss' lip curled as he reached for something in the top drawer of his large, oak desk. He pulled out a chunky file, over-spilling with pages that appeared to be in teeny-tiny print. He whacked the file down on the desk in front of her._

 _'_ _Then you got some homework to do, my friend.'_

The entire US Marshals code was now inscribed in G's memory. Good thing she was a quick study as she'd had less than a week to pack up all her shit, kiss her parents goodbye and grab a flight to Lexington. Though she hated it, she had to admit it was a genius idea. She got to keep a job not entirely dissimilar to her own, she was only a short plane ride away from DC and it would definitely throw the people after her off her trail. I mean, who would actually come looking for her in a place like this?

As lost in thought as she had been, G had not registered to rise in volume as the office began to fill up. She'd come in extra early to drop some stuff onto a desk that had been assigned to her and pick up her new firearm – Glock .40 calibre – and her new badge. Though she missed her FBI credentials, she had to admit the star was pretty cool. It hung heavy on her belt and gave her the notion that she had a shield around her. Lord knew she needed one.

The office she was standing outside had the words 'Chief Deputy Art Mullen' inscribed on the door. She had met him for the first time a few days ago and he was the only member of this office who knew her real identity. He had approved her transfer without much fuss and aided in her transition admirably considering that the Feds and the Marshals were not always the best of friends.

Art Mullen was 55. He'd been Chief Deputy of the Lexington office for the last five years and he liked his life well enough. Loved his wife most of the time, had two lovely daughters and a grandchild on the way. Art was content with the life he'd lived and the decisions he'd made…until the arrival of one US Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens who'd been passed back to him by the Miami branch. Raylan was unpredictable, highly trigger happy, and he had a mouth on him that made Art want to punch him 95% of the time. But Raylan was a good man and a satisfactory Marshal and Art wasn't much for complaining. Except about his knees.

Raylan's return had been last month and Art had regretted it almost immediately. But Raylan was worming his way into Art's heart, even if it was causing him some sort of coronary disease. Art wondered, as he walked up to his office to see Agent Gandhi standing outside, if he hadn't made another Boeing 747 sized problem for himself.

When he'd received a call from FBI headquarters in DC, he had been more than a little surprised. But he extended the olive branch and, as the Marshals were in charge of the WITSEC program, he felt morally obligated to help in some way. Besides, the girl came with a list of skills that he couldn't exactly turn down. Maybe she would actually make a difference here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This is the first time I have been brave enough to publish one of my stories! I hope that you enjoy it. Thank you to everyone who has commented on the story so far via PM. I genuinely love hearing from you guys so it would make my day if anyone has anything more to say, good or constructive, I'll appreciate it!

This is very O/C heavy, but if you bear with me, Tim, Rachel, Art and Raylan will be making a much greater appearance!

This chapter and the next couple will be quite heavy on exploring characters, how they feel about each other etc. I know you all know these characters and have an image of them but I'd feel like I was doing a disservice if I didn't describe them anyway! Hope you stick with this story, it's very close to my heart!

 **Disclaimer:** I am not in any way affiliated with FX. All views in my works are mine and mine alone, and any names and references used are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated by myself. I also, being from England, have very little idea how the FBI or the USMS operate. If any of my information is incorrect, please let me know and I'll be happy to correct it!

* * *

'Miss Gandhi, how can I help you?' Art caught up to her in front of his office and smiled his best, most welcoming smile that he reserved only for people he didn't know. She returned the sentiment and held out a wad of papers.

'This should be everything to do with my transfer. Also a copy of the firearm licence I just got for this bad boy - ' she tapped her gun holstered on her right hip ' – and all of the rest of my credentials should you need them.'

Art raised an eyebrow and took the papers. She seemed like the no nonsense type. She and Rachel would probably get along. Speaking of Rachel… he turned to her desk where she was working diligently on a case report. Rachel liked to get all that done early in the day, and like the highly organised woman she was; she rarely strayed from her patterns. Fortunately for him though, she caught his eye at just the right moment and he beckoned her over.

'Thanks. I'll file these away safe. I was actually going to introduce you to one of my best, Deputy Rachel Brooks.'

Rachel had reached them at this point and she smiled sweetly at G. She was a striking black lady, around G's height and with a distinct air of I-know-exactly-what-I'm-doing-don't-mess-with-me. Her black hair was scraped back into a high bun, but her rosy cheeks and full lips countered the severity of the hairstyle. She wore a formal black trouser suit and a pink shirt underneath and there was a friendly mirth in her dark eyes that made G feel at ease immediately.

'One of? Art, you and I both know that I am your best.' Her accent was not as southern as everyone else's but her voice was rich and warm. Art chuckled and pushed open the door to his office.

'Don't let the others hear you Rachel. You know they get jealous of my favouritism.' It was Rachel's turn to chuckle.

Art turned back to G who was watching the exchange with some amusement in her eyes. She was glad the people here seemed to be friendly and up for a laugh, but she was aware that she should probably keep a little distance from them. After all, she could be heading back to DC at the drop of a hat if the threat against her were to end…

'In all seriousness though,' Art began, ripping her from her thoughts again. 'Rachel is great and she's going to give you the tour of the place and explain to you how everything works around here. You got any problems, go to her. And I guarantee you won't need to come to me, because Rachel can fix anything.'

'She is magic.' G turned. A Hat behind them had spoken. She heard Art groan and retreat into his office and wondered if she should be worried...

'Witches usually are.' A dry, Southern drawl emerged from behind the Hat. To her left, G could feel Rachel rolling her eyes, nicely manicured hands on her hips as a warning.

'Boys, don't you have some Pokémon cards to swap elsewhere?' Rachel's tone was mocking but there was a smile on her face. G could tell they all got on well. Most of the time.

The Southern Drawl snorted. 'Way before Raylan's time.' This earned him a shove from his companion. Rachel crossed her arms this time and the two men straightened, knowing better than to push her.

'Behave, you two. We have company.' Rachel turned to G and smiled. 'This is Deputy US Marshal Gina Gandhi. I expect you to try and be respectful and welcoming.' Both men saluted at Rachel in tandem and G had to crack a smile.

'Just G, please.' She stuck out her hand and the Hat accepted it. He was tall, 6'1" or 2", with a very handsome face and a nice body under the purple checked shirt and black tie. He was rocking the whole cowboy look with faded jeans and leather boots. His hazel eyes were warm and they crinkled as he smiled, flashing a row of perfect pearly whites.

'Raylan Givens. I was the new guy before you.'

'Yeah, I read your file. Tommy Bucks. Very impressive.' G said off-handedly as she matched his firm grip. He didn't seem offended by the fact she'd brought up Tommy Bucks or the fact she'd read a file on him. In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have mentioned either, (she was actively working on being less abrasive) but he just tossed her another lazy smile.

Raylan's hands were warm and solid, like a boulder that had been sitting under the sun for a while. She didn't know why but it made her feel immediately comfortable and she found herself grinning. Not to mention, he was gorgeous.

'Read my file too?' Southern Drawl was now casually leaning at the desk closest to Art's office. She hoped it was his desk because leaning on other people's desks was just rude really, wasn't it? G met his eyes for the first time. They were a cool, blue-grey. The look he was giving her was cool too, contemplative, like an animal that meets a human for the first time, trying to establish friend from foe.

'Deputy Gutterson.' G didn't want to assume a first name basis or anything. His face remained relatively blank, save his seemingly characteristic smirk. He was obviously someone who operated on micro-emotions. An eyebrow raise here and a quirked lip there could mean everything. It was fairly unnerving.

He pushed off the desk slowly. Something in the way he walked towards her - just slow enough - made her think of a lion stalking it's prey. Something about him screamed danger. A complete juxtaposition to the youthful face and wide eyes that both screamed innocence. He was around 5'10", maybe 11'' and he was slightly intimidating as he came to stand before her. Of course, G didn't show any uncertainty.

Back straight, best poker face on.

As he got closer, his smile became slightly more genuine, full, pink lips curling almost sweetly. He took her hand and shook it.

'Tim.' Even the way he said his name was drawn out, and his eyes caught her off guard, freezing her to the spot.

His hands were large, cool where Raylan's had been warm. They squeezed her fingers gently but firm enough. When he pulled away, her heart was racing and she didn't know why. He brought the opposite of the comfort that Raylan had provided, throwing her weirdly off balance.

'Hope you enjoy Kentucky.' With that, he backed off and resumed his lean against the desk, navy blue shirt crinkling a little. Enjoy Kentucky? The way he said it made her sure there was a hidden joke in there. Some sort of irony? He seemed like the dry, dark humour type. Every movement seemed lazy and careless but G could see the gracefulness of that lion in him, under eyes that seemed to say nothing and everything all at once.

 _Jeez G, wake up._

G took a deep breath and hoped that she had kept her face impassive throughout that odd encounter. She flashed everyone a nice, toothy, bright smile and relaxed her stance.

Rachel relaxed now that the boys were about done flashing their dicks. She straightened her blazer jacket and turned so that she was directly between G and the two men-children.

'Time for a tour!'

* * *

Tim and Raylan watched the two women sashay out of the office with raised eyebrows. Once they'd turned their backs, Tim wordlessly fished a twenty out of his pocket and thrust it at Raylan. Raylan took it and grinned impishly before settling comfortably into the chair behind his desk and propping his feet up. Tim slipped into his own seat and bit his lip.

When they'd heard there was going to be a new deputy – a new female deputy - Raylan, Tim and a couple of others in the office had placed bets on how hot she was going to be. Rachel, obviously, had disapproved. Raylan, ever the womaniser, bet on hot. Tim, imagining a middle aged, battle-axe of a woman, bet not hot. He was now regretting it.

Deputy Gandhi was smokin', in a very not-from-Kentucky kind of way. She wasn't classically pretty like girls round here were, with their blonde hair and blue eyes that promised a good time. No, she was exotic, half Spanish maybe; more likely Indian guessing by the name, light brown skin and dark amber eyes that seemed to sparkle, shrouding some sort of mystery. She had plump, kissable lips and a lovely smile. Nice body, curvy, alluring in fitted grey trousers and a matching tight, fitted blazer. Tim admired her ass as she walked away.

She wasn't tall, but when he'd been standing near her, Tim felt like her presence carried a pull to it, like a gravitational tug that made him want to get closer. Instead, he'd kept as much distance as possible. Tim didn't get involved with co-workers. Tim didn't get involved with anyone… Still, as he twiddled a pen between his dextrous fingers, he thought that he would like to get to know her.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** _This is a filler chapter, please bear with it, it does provide an outsider's opinion on Tim Gutterson. The next chapter has much more Tim/G/Rachel interaction and I am posting it now because I've written it and I'm impatient to share!_

* * *

G's day passed in a blur. She got a whistle-stop of the entire courthouse building and then a run down of the security systems, fire-drill protocol, and some stellar tricks to get the photocopier to work when it was having a bad day. This was basically some sort of weird pattern you had to drum on the side of the machine plus one kick to the bottom left front corner and voila, the photocopier would be your baby. Or so Rachel promised.

Having spent the last 8 hours with Rachel, G decided she liked her. Rachel was smart, sassy and sweet in just the right amounts, and she was a diligent worker who didn't take shit from anyone.

The rest of the week was fairly dreary. A little paperwork, couple of house calls, one mundane prisoner transport. G was never exactly bored, but she wasn't riveted by the work either. The office had gone out for dinner and drinks at a local diner on Friday though. All that was gleaned from this excursion was that everybody in Kentucky loved two things – country music and bourbon. My god, those people could drink. G was pretty tipsy by the third shot but Art and Raylan must have polished off a bottle at least between them. Tim had maybe one to himself…

As a sworn gin girl, she did not appreciate the harsh bite of the alcohol but that appeared to be all they stocked and beggars can't be choosers and all that. She did however appreciate the office's attempt to make her feel welcome and comfortable.

Rachel had warmed towards G as the week progressed but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something just a little off about her. They'd have a conversation where G would forget herself, just for a second and start talking animatedly, letting Rachel get to know her a little, but then she'd stop abruptly and close off, like she didn't want to give too much away. It unnerved Rachel. Maybe she'd bring it up with Art, see if he knew any more about the elusive Miss Gandhi.

It was 10.30pm on a Monday evening and G was bored. The excitement of last Friday night had all but worn off and another prisoner transport this morning had made her inconsolably homesick for her old job.

Having exhausted half her film collection since she arrived two weeks ago, she thought she should prevent her eyes from turning square and avoid the TV for a night. Instead she had cooked chicken instead of just throwing together a salad or ordering pizza. This killed approximately an hour. She then read 10 pages of some book about space. This killed another hour because every noise from outside distracted her attention. She then paced her (still relatively bare) apartment for 45 minutes before flopping onto the couch and sighing petulantly. As she now lay staring at the ceiling, she found her mind wandering.

Tim Gutterson.

Tim Gutterson was a complete misnomer. G could not work him out. It really rattled her, because half her job was making people. Picking apart their habits and motivations was what she was good at – hell, it was the reason her arrest rate had been so high. But Tim was evasive. In the little interaction she'd had with him so far, all she could say was that he used well-placed sarcasm to disguise any and all emotion, he reacted fairly abnormally to certain situations and he was just all round frustrating. At the diner, he'd been the one to drink the most yet speak the least. For her, the two were inseparable.

' _Want me to wing 'em or kill 'em?'_

G replayed those words in her head - the first time she'd seen him in action, nothing on his face but absolute concentration. This was his job and he took it seriously but he removed himself from it. Probably the best thing, it must be tough being the person everyone goes to for ending lives.

G had read Tim's file very thoroughly. She had insisted that James give her all the info the FBI had on every person in the Lexington USMS. It was only fair. Reading about these people had just about made up for having to read that goddamn rule-book. Without a second thought, G sprung up from the couch and into the bedroom. Under the bed itself was a cardboard evidence box filled with the files. She rifled through, picking Tim's out and sliding the rest back out of sight. Settling back on the plush pillows, G began to read.

Gutterson was very interesting; the pictures of his handiwork even more so. Lord knows how the Bureau had managed to get shots of the Talib that Gutterson had shot from over a mile away, but G would be damned if the symmetrical hole wasn't exactly to the millimetre in the centre of his head. The Afghani man had even fallen onto his back perfectly spread-eagle, lips still open in a wide 'O'. She had to admire the accuracy even though it wasn't a picture she particularly enjoyed looking at.

G wondered if Gutterson had ever seen any photos of his kills. Probably not. He didn't seem like a typical army jock. She couldn't imagine him boasting about how he took out targets left, right and centre. He seemed very grounded, for someone that actually had very little reason to be.

Query PTSD was the last thing his post-discharge shrink had written in his 6-month report. Reflecting on it now, PTSD was probably likely, though G had seen little evidence of it. Tim got a little touchy if anyone ever mentioned war but he was never fazed by a situation, at work at least. He always kept a cool head, the ice to Raylan's fire. He was damn handy in a gunfight and the best shot she'd ever seen.

Gutterson would probably be mortified that she had access to this stuff. Not to worry, not like she'd ever bring it up and unless he was ever sneaking around under her bed, how would he ever find out?

* * *

 **AN:** I did some research into it. The word Taliban can be used as singular or plural but the official singular of the word is Talib so that's what I've gone for. Let me know if you have a differing view!


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting in a cramped, stuffy van with almost-but-not-quite strangers was weird. G used to love stakeouts with James and her colleagues in DC. It had been fun, like a total escape from reality. Nothing mattered except the people next to you, the people you were watching and the coffee you were drinking. Speaking of coffee, Rachel rolled her shoulders and stood. She was clearly getting antsy and G couldn't blame her. They'd been sitting on this runaway fugitive, Antonin Fuery, for over 12 hours now and they'd all run out of things to talk about. Rachel incoherently muttered something about three lattes and left sharpish.

G yanked off her cardigan and groaned as her spine clicked in protest. Tim shot her a look that conveyed 'ew' and turned back to the static image of Fuery's wife's house. Nothing had changed since they'd rocked up, nobody in, nobody out, nobody in-between.

'Jesus Christ. Is it always this boring?' G whined, drawing her knees up to her chest from her seat on the floor. Someone had been kind enough to leave a cushion at some point so her sacral nerves were not entirely shredded.

Tim grunted non-commitally. He had swapped in for Raylan about 2 hours ago when Raylan had some sort of emergency that probably wasn't an emergency to anyone except Raylan. Tim had been very quiet. He'd rocked up in a hoodie, pulled his cap low and kept his sunglasses on even though the van was pretty dark.

'Gutterson, are you sick?' G said it just to get a rise, but when he turned to face her, she thought maybe she was onto him. His skin was paler than usual which really was saying something since he was practically an albino, and he had been wearing a perpetually pouty frown, though that was nothing really new.

'No.' One-word answers were never a good sign.

'If you are, you need to remove yourself from this situation immediately because I do not appreciate catching disease.' G stated, folding her arms childishly across her chest. She could feel Tim's eyes boring holes in her through his very dark sunglasses. He made a gruff sound of irritation before yanking his cap off and scraping a hand through his usually neat hair.

Tim was trying to convey through body language and tone that he did not want to have this conversation but G really wasn't picking up the signals. Or she was and she was ignoring them. Tim wished for Rachel to reappear as soon as possible. At least the girls could distract each other.

Tim could not begin to articulate his rage at being awoken at 4am to come join this pity party. But Raylan had promised to do all his reports for a week and Tim knew he couldn't turn that down. Anyway that girl Stacey, Tracy? Whatever, was trying to stay over after they hooked up and Tim did not do staying over. But how does one politely tell a girl to get the fuck out? At least work had been a good enough excuse. She had pouted, grabbed his hand, put it on her chest and batted her eyelids, promising him another go if he stayed but he had managed to extricate himself, making a mental note to forever avoid the bar he'd met her in.

He always slept better post-coitus and he'd been really looking forward to catching some shut-eye. But as the Lord had other plans for his existence, here he was, stuck in a vacuum-sealed chamber with Little Miss Nosy and Rachel, who was always grumpy if she didn't get her two hourly caffeine fix.

'Gutterson.' Tim groaned this time, dropping his head onto the countertop dramatically.

'Please leave me alone.'

'Gutterson, are you…are you hung over?' The words were reproachful but there was definite amusement in them. Tim stilled and the automatic reaction spurred G on.

'Are you…still drunk?' He felt her get closer to him, heard her sniff, felt the van shake with her laughter.

'God, you are.'

Tim opened his eyes, surprised to see G giggling. He hadn't spent all that much time with her, but from what he'd seen, G was friendly, efficient and cool. She seemed pleasant enough, a little sassy, good banter and enough sarcasm to be on his wavelength, but he'd never really seen any base human reactions from her. At crime scenes, she stayed level, poker face up. At work she was easy-going but guarded enough. Now she was…laughing? It didn't make sense but he went along with it.

What? She had a nice laugh…

'Fucking. Hilarious.' Tim punctuated wryly as he put his head in his hands. Even though he liked the tinkling sound of her laughter, the noise was making his head begin to throb.

'I love it when you swear. I don't know why, it just cracks me up.'

Tim took off his glasses, the dim light temporarily blinding him before he adjusted. He threw her an incredulous look but couldn't help a small smile of his own.

'Never knew I was this entertaining.' He drawled, only slightly sarcastically.

G continued to giggle and pulled herself up into the chair next to his. 'Thank you, I needed a good laugh.' She wiped away a tear and grinned at him.

There was a short pause as she assessed him critically.

'You have the look of a man who got lucky.' She deadpanned.

Tim's jaw nearly hit the floor. Where had this come from? How did she even know? He'd never thought they'd talk about this. He guessed rubbing shoulders with someone in close-confines formed an odd kind of bond where the societal norms of not bringing up sex with people you didn't know went out of the window…

G chuckled at the look on his face. 'Most definitely.' She nodded to herself before leaning on the counter. 'You smell like perfume.' She added, shrugging, clarifying for him how she'd reached the conclusion. Tim mentally kicked himself. Next time, regardless of emergency, he was having a shower.

For a second, G looked like she wanted to carry on the conversation, but then thought better of it and smiled instead.

'I had a question for you actually.' She met his eyes uncertainly. The look in her eyes was indecipherable but it made him think he wasn't going to appreciate the query. Oh god, please not a war question, anything but that. Tim steeled himself and forced a smile on his face.

'Shoot.'

'Speaking of shooting –' Really Tim? Shoot? Tim cursed inwardly.

'Any good ranges round here?' Tim paused for a few moments, quietly thanking the heavenly ghost that this conversation wasn't going down _that_ road. He didn't know why she hesitated to ask in the first place. Maybe she didn't want to intrude on something she knew was sacred to him. In pondering all this, he'd obviously stopped so long that G impatiently raised an eyebrow.

'Er…yeah…a couple.' G rolled her eyes.

'Brain not engaged yet, huh?'

'Sorry. I can take you if you want?' Wait, what? Tim didn't realise how or why those words came out, but out there they were and he couldn't exactly take them back, could he?

G was clearly thinking the same thing. Apart from drinks and dinner with the office, which had only happened once since she'd been here, she'd never socialised with Tim. Why would he want to hang out with her? He seemed so distant. But she wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to shoot with a former sniper.

She flashed him a genuine smile and replied truthfully, 'That would be fantastic.'

Tim relaxed a little, the ache behind his eyes dulling slightly, glad that he hadn't been too forward. It's not like he wanted to spend time with her or anything, but obviously his subconscious had different ideas. Besides, it would probably be good to get to know her a little, maybe some one-on-one time would help him figure her out some, if just for his own peace of mind.

At that moment the door slid open to reveal Rachel, bearing gifts of coffee, bringing with her the first tendrils of the dawning sun. The coffee was gratefully accepted and everyone settled back down.

Tim slipped his sunglasses back on but kept his eyes on G, appreciating her genuine smile.

'I usually head down to the range first thing Sunday.'

'His version of Church.' Rachel butted in, much more perky now that she had some steaming coffee in her. Tim's lip quirked and he took a sip, some of the colour returning to his own face.

'Sounds perfect.' G was finally glad she had something to do in this town.

'We have Sunday night dinner at my house every week, my mom loves cooking and she likes a full table. Tim's a regular.' Rachel and Tim swapped a smile, making it ever more clear to G that the two were undoubtedly close despite their constant bickering.

'It would be nice if you could join us, G?' Rachel fixed her eyes on G with a smile on her face. In two weeks, she hadn't broken down many barriers with the new girl apart from superficial chats. Like Tim, Rachel wanted to know her team, it made her feel better about walking into dangerous situations knowing who had her back. She'd been meaning to do something with G for a few days now and when Tim had mentioned Sunday, she thought it'd be the perfect idea to see G, and to let G see her in a more relaxed setting.

G's eyes widened a fraction. Sunday dinner? In her mind, she could see Rachel having the perfect family. Wonderful husband, well behaved kids, loving mom. She almost laughed at the image. It suited Rachel.

'That'd be nice. Really nice.' G smiled a small, genuine smile. She had been trying to keep some distance between her and her colleagues but it was a kind offer and she was bored and lonely in this town. It couldn't hurt to spend some time with some good company, right?

* * *

AN: Finally some more Tim and G. Also plenty more Rachel to come and lots of angsty shooting at the range!


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** This one is more Tim

* * *

The weekend passed quickly for everyone. The stakeout had borne no fruit and they'd all left the van several hours later exhausted and tetchy. It was lucky it had been a Friday because each of them collapsed and slept for at least 9 hours as soon as they got home.

Saturday saw Rachel taking Nick, her nephew, to basketball practice and then starting on some of the odd jobs that needed doing around the house. Tim spent most of the day and night with an old army buddy who was in town on a conference. His friend, Iain, had gone back to college after discharge. He now held a masters in Accountancy and was working his way up the career ladder in Houston. Tim had a great time catching up and was secretly proud that his friend had achieved so much after shipping out.

Nonetheless, as Tim was lying in bed at 3am on Sunday morning, awake despite his drunken stupor, he began to think about what he'd achieved. Was leaving even worth it? Tim couldn't deny that he missed war. He missed the camaraderie, the noise, the urgency. In a sick way, he missed the violence. He knew there had to be something wrong with him for that but as much as he lied to psychologists and brushed it off with his friends, he couldn't lie to himself. Tim Gutterson and War were entwined in a bitter and desperate relationship that he couldn't pull out of, couldn't forget despite copious amounts of alcohol.

He regularly checked websites for names of the fallen, praying desperately not to see anyone he knew. Every time he did, it made a part of him wither and die inside. He felt like he should be back there, helping, even saving one guy was better than staying in this sleepy town. Really, what was here for him here but bad childhood memories and a few work colleagues?

Tim scrubbed a hand over his face and turned over, willing himself to sleep as his mind kept ticking. He knew he was being unfair. They were more than his colleagues. Art was the whole reason he was here, recruiting Tim from the badly coping, bar hopping, self loathing creature that he was post-war and helping him become…something better.

Rachel had trained him, her mom had basically adopted him and since the army, he felt a slight sense of 'belonging' in this place and that was all down to her.

Raylan was, well, Raylan. Headstrong and careless, there was never a dull moment with him. He kept Tim on his toes, somehow grounded him by being so up in the air.

And then there was G. To be honest, G could only fit into the category of colleague right now. But last night in the van, she'd let him see a much more approachable side to her. They had a similar sense of humour that was for sure, but the rest of her was a mystery. Well, at least she was providing some new entertainment. Tim rolled over again, this time counting sheep in vain. He didn't want to look tired enough to give G any more reason to rib him about it tomorrow. He considered another shot of bourbon, maybe that would be the trick but he reconsidered. He didn't want her to smell the alcohol on him or anything. Tim drifted off wondering why he cared so much what Deputy Gandhi thought of him…

* * *

G's phone rang at 7.45am. She groaned, blinking her eyes in disbelief. Who in god's name was even awake at 7.45am on a Sunday? Seeing Tim's name on her call screen explained it. Of course he would be an early riser.

'Gutterson. You do know what time it is, don't you?' Her voice was croaky with sleep and irritation.

He didn't know when she'd started referring to him by his last name. All he knew was that she'd never actually called him 'Tim.' It was strange because she was on first name basis with everyone else. Should he be offended? Was she purposely trying to be distant? There was a fondness in the way she said it though, even now when he could tell she was pissed at him. He decided he didn't mind it.

'I'll be over by 8.30, ok? I usually hit the range by 9.' No exceptions for you, is what he wanted to add, but he didn't know how she'd take it. He grinned again as he heard a groan and an expletive as something fell to the floor. Hearing her swear was amusing, too. G could hear him chuckling on the other end of the line and she wanted to hit him.

'Ugh. Fine.'

She rang off and Tim continued to smile, imagining her in the morning. She clearly wasn't an early riser by choice, and she didn't seem to be all sunshine and rainbows first thing. Before he could stop himself, his brain had formulated a very interesting picture of her trussed up in sheets, hair wild, relaxed. Something about that image, so contradictory to the polished front she presented at work, made Tim's stomach flip. He shook his head. Like he was ever going to see her first thing in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: I'd love to go to a shooting range. Shame I'll have to live vicariously through Tim. This chapter is Tim being sassy and G liking it.

* * *

G stumbled out of bed and into the shower, trying to wake up. She'd stayed up pretty late last night researching guns. Sure, she was great with handling firearms, that came naturally to her, but she had little clue about how they actually operated and she had no doubt Tim was a whiz-kid at that stuff. She'd practiced taking and putting her guns together as quickly as she could. Not that she was trying to impress him or anything…

G had also done a little research into snipers and was very stunned by what she saw. Sitting on targets for days at a time, taking shots from ludicrous distances, calculating for wind speed, humidity, bullet drop. Snipers were clearly a breed apart. She'd gone to bed slightly unnerved after she'd accidentally stumbled onto a page about what might happen to a sniper in the unfortunate incident that they were captured by the other side. Unfortunate didn't begin to cover it. She wondered if anything like that had happened to Tim out there and she resolved never to ask.

Feeling slightly more alive after the steaming water, G dressed in dark blue, ripped jeans, black leather boots and a long-sleeved, grey t-shirt. Grabbing her black leather jacket, she put some coffee on and grabbed a banana.

In her haste this morning, she'd forgotten to ask Tim how on earth he knew where she lived. Had she mentioned it to anyone? Only Rachel and Art. Had one of them told him? If he had found out so easily, could other people find out too? A small shiver ran down her spine and she cast the though aside, slowly chewing.

She sat down on the edge of her plush, brown leather sofa and looked out of the large window opposite, which spanned most of the room. She'd finally got round to filling the apartment. Luckily for her, the Bureau were willing to foot the majority of rent and some expenses so she could still keep her apartment in DC without being too stretched. Without being overly extravagant, G had invested in decent electronics, a good sound system and a luxurious king size bed. Figured she may as well be comfortable if she was staying for long. She had avoided decorating though. She didn't want to put her own stamp on this place, didn't want to make it too personal, had already decided she wasn't going to miss it when she left.

A knock at her door roused her from her thoughts. Tim was leaning casually against the doorframe, dressed in faded denims and a dark leather jacket. He was flicking his Raybans in his hands and tossed G a small smile that was really a smirk.

The leaning was Tim's thing. He leant on everything. G remembered the first time she'd met him, when she'd hoped he didn't lean on other people's desks. Well, he did. It had been annoying at first, but he did it with such elegance, there was something…weirdly sexy about it….

G snapped out of it and stepped back, allowing him access to the apartment. With a nonchalant 'there's coffee on the side' she disappeared into what he assumed was her bedroom. He pushed the door shut, poured himself a mug and wandered through an archway into an open plan lounge. Clearly she had a bit of money; this place was nice. He eyed the TV, complete with Blu-ray and surround sound. There was a cherry wood shelf next to the TV that reached the ceiling, piled high with an impressive collection of CDs and DVDs.

G wandered back through, securing her Glock into it's holster, her Beretta already tucked into the back of her jeans. She flashed him a genuine, if slightly guarded smile, implying she was ready.

'Nice place.' Tim eyed the TV again. His own was nice enough, but nowhere near brand new and he streamed a lot of stuff on the internet. Judging by her DVD collection, she did not.

'Thanks. How'd you find it?' G's tone was off hand. He was about to make a joke about tracking her down covertly, but when he met her eyes, he was surprised to see a little concern? She veiled it well.

'Rachel.' He saw some of the tension drain away and he smirked. 'Ready to get your ass kicked?'

The journey to the range was about half an hour. It was a fairly picturesque drive to a place called Winchester. They passed time easily, chatting about guns, joking about this and that. Tim was surprised at how nice the company was. G was spread out on the passenger seat like she'd been in his car a hundred times before. She was enjoying herself and this should have worried her. It wasn't doing much for keeping distance between her colleagues, but she was having a good time and she didn't want that to end.

They jumped out of Tim's truck, an immaculately clean, black Chevy Suburban at 9.10am.

'You're late.' G whipped around to see a giant lumbering towards them. This guy was maybe 6'5" and wearing light blue jeans with a dark blue denim jacket – standard fashion crime. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes and a long, white ponytail poked out of a faded blue baseball cap. He looked just like one of the hicks from Harlan, complete with rifle clutched in his left hand. The only thing that redeemed him was a wide, friendly grin, indicating he knew Tim well.

'Surprised a heart attack hasn't claimed you yet, Randy.' Tim shot back, smirk curling on his lips. G thought it suited him, that smirk. Completed the persona of Tim Gutterson.

The man called Randy suddenly grabbed his chest with his right hand and dropped to his knees, gurgling dramatically. G didn't really know if laughing was appropriate, but it was funny. Tim definitely thought so and he pushed himself off from his leaning position on his truck to grab Randy's jacket and yank him up. The two exchanged some more jokes ending in a handshake, before Randy turned his attention to G, lifting his sunglasses and winking at her.

'Gutterson, I ain't never actually seen you with a pretty girl before.'

'Bullshit.' Tim countered, rolling his eyes. The two behaved like drinking buddies. G was sure Randy had seen Tim with plenty of girls.

'Girls, yes. Pretty being the operative word.' Randy fixed Tim a look of disdain, which Tim flung back, pouting a little, not expecting to be embarrassed in front of G.

Randy chuckled and stuck his hand out. G took it and he squeezed her hand firmly.

'Randy Sharpe. It's a pleasure to meet you ma'am.' Randy's wide smile was contagious and G grinned back, feeling slightly cruel that she'd judged him. He was perfectly delightful. She didn't think anyone had ever called her ma'am before…she kind of liked it.

'Pleasure's mine, Mr Sharpe.' Beside her, she could feel Tim rolling his eyes again. 'Keep doing that and your eyes will get stuck, Gutterson.' She tossed him a withering look and Randy guffawed.

'I like your girl, Tim, she's a keeper.' He thumped Tim on the back and the two went to collect Tim's impressive arsenal of guns from the back of his truck. Tim shoved a rifle into her hands as he brushed past her and began to follow Randy up the winding path from the parking lot to the range. No one corrected Randy that she was not, in fact, Tim's girlfriend.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: FYI, being a Brit, I really have no idea how guns and shooting ranges work. If anyone would like to educate me, please send me a PM! Things are hotting up for Tim and G and the baseball cap makes an appearance!

* * *

Since she'd first thought it this morning, G couldn't stop thinking it. Tim Gutterson was sexy. The way he moved, graceful but purposeful, his mind always a step ahead. The cutting sarcasm that dripped from smirking, pink lips. The Southern Drawl that was just a fraction too slow but made her feel…strange.

All G knew was that this was not good. She tried to shake it as they walked. She could freely admit Raylan was sexy, why not Tim? Not like anything was going to happen. No siree. Didn't stop her from checking out his ass as he walked in front of her though.

She managed perfectly well for a while. They got their ammo and went to the 100m section. Tim agreed that she should test her guns first; after all, he came here all the time. G was well acquainted with the Glock .40S&W as it was the same weapon she'd used with the Bureau. She had been very fond of her own gun, though she'd had to relinquish it with her badge when she left DC. This one, though the exact same make and model, felt somewhat alien in her hands. Nevertheless, she shrugged off her jacket, loaded, aimed and fired six shots within a minute. She hit the recall button and the swinging sheet of paper with the mock body on it flew over to her.

Two in the chest. Two in the head. Two in the stomach.

She could feel Tim lurking behind her. Clearly the range brought him out of his shell. G pulled off the earmuffs and eye protection and flicked the safety onto the gun, switching the sheet up.

'Got something to say, Gutterson? Or are you just going to hover?' G flicked a look over her right shoulder. Tim had taken his own leather jacket off and was leaning casually against the side of her cubicle, trying to look unimpressed.

'Alright. I guess.' He smirked. G opened her mouth in mock outrage and he chuckled. Tim hesitated for a second, smile dropping before he pushed off the wall and walked closer. He hit the button to send the sheet back to the firing line and stood just behind G, slightly to the right. She put her safety equipment back on and gave him a questioning look.

'Take your position.' He could be quite commanding too. G tried to pretend like that wasn't sexy either.

His touch was so light, she almost didn't feel it. He nudged her right elbow ever-so-slightly and then pushed her left hip a tiny bit so her knee was angled differently. All contact was completely minimal but she was glad he was standing behind her and couldn't see her face.

'Try now.' He whispered.

Six shots later, Tim recalled the sheet. There was only one, large hole through which all the shots had penetrated. Directly through the middle of the forehead.

G turned to face him, an incredulous look on her face. Tim didn't wait for a question, he just shrugged, smirked and glided away. He didn't teach anyone to shoot, didn't help anyone at the range either. As long as they didn't talk about it, he hadn't broken any of his own rules.

* * *

It was when he flipped his baseball cap backwards on his head that G knew she was in trouble. She didn't know where the cap had even come from, but after an hour or so of shooting individually, they'd meandered towards the 800m range and it had suddenly appeared on Tim's head, along with the rifle he was now carrying. This was obviously Tim's baby, he'd brought it from home (along with a veritable smorgasbord of guns) and he caressed it like he loved it. G ribbed him for it a bit. He just smiled and stroked the barrel amorously. She ribbed him for that too.

They reached the firing line and Tim knelt, assembling the gun in 30 seconds flat. Somehow he managed to make that look sexy too, all long, nimble fingers and furrowed brow. G knelt beside him, straining to even see the target.

'Alright, Gutterson. Impress me.'

He fixed her with his standard, bored, why-would-you-even-say-that look. But there was some underlying emotion she couldn't place, his blue-grey eyes vast and broiling. Tim didn't talk much, but G realised her first impression of him had been wrong. His face wasn't blank. The more she looked at it, the more she saw.

With another smirk, Tim flipped the hat round. A tuft of shiny, blondish hair poked out from underneath it, framing his forehead. Something caught in G's throat. He looked adorable, his youthful face appearing even younger. He flopped down on his stomach, pressed his right cheek tightly to the butt of the gun and fired. She saw the recoil, saw him get up, but she didn't need to see the target to know exactly where the bullet had gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN** : Firstly, thank you for all your lovely PMs and reviews! It really means a lot to me! Thank you for sticking with this story, I know a lot of people are not fond of OCs so I'm trying to make her complex and flawed but as interesting as I can!

I also apologise for the fact that this is a very short chapter! Been super busy but there is plenty more to come and I am working on it :)

* * *

A few rounds later, Tim stood. G had been sitting on the floor, idly lost in her thoughts. Mainly she'd been watching Tim, observing the concentration on his face, the way the muscles in his back shifted under his navy corduroy shirt. The way his ass looked in those jeans. How he huffed a little in frustration when the shot was a micrometre out.

It wasn't until he actually held a hand out to her that she realised he'd packed up and was ready to leave and she was chilling on the ground looking stupid. On auto-pilot, she grabbed his hand.

Mistake. His hands were lovely. Just soft enough to make her query the whole army vet thing, but a couple of callouses gave away what he did for a living now. The second mistake was that he pulled her up so she landed way too close to him, eyes in line with his collarbone. G could feel his breath on her cheek and for a second, she allowed herself a look at his exposed neck. Pale, long, very kissable. The hollow of his throat pulsed as he swallowed. She jerked out of her daydream with a long stride backwards.

It all happened very quickly so she hoped he hadn't noticed anything but Tim had an uncanny eye for detail. When she looked up at him however, she was relieved. Aside from his signature smirk, he wasn't eyeing her accusatorily. She held her hand out for the scope that he had now pulled from his rucksack. He handed it over and she took a quick peek. The scope behaved like binoculars, only provided far more clarity and there wasn't that oddly dizzying effect of looking into a magnifying glass.

The hay-stuffed manikin sitting 800m away had not fared well. It had round holes in each ear and eye, plus one through the forehead, nose, mouth, throat and of course, a perfect kill shot straight through the heart. G returned the scope to Tim, who watched her carefully. She looked stunned, but not really in a good way. This was the reality of what Tim did. Accuracy. Precision. Death.

A shiver ran up G's spine as she looked at Tim. Not what one would expect from a guy who could do that. He was quiet, kinda skinny, no in your face bravado, and yet he'd probably the most lethal man in the sandpit. He was watching her like he was waiting for a verdict and there was something shy about the way he stood, kind of like a naughty schoolchild about to get told off. He'd really put himself out there, showing her this side of him.

G smiled slowly. 'I'm impressed, Gutterson.' As she walked away, she could swear she heard him sigh in relief.


	10. Chapter 10

**1000 apologies for how late this update is! Thank you again for the reviews and for waiting patiently! Hopefully this long chapter will make up for it! Please continue to review and PM me! I love reading your feedback!**

 **I enjoyed writing this one, it's a bit of a glimpse into Tim's psyche and some flashbacks at the end! Very sorry for any grammatical errors, I got a bit excited and I don't have a beta! I hope you enjoy reading! xo**

* * *

It was one 'o' clock by the time Tim dropped G back at her apartment. Rachel wasn't expecting them til 7pm so they had the day to kill before dinner. As G disembarked from Tim's truck, she was tempted to invite him up to her apartment for coffee before thinking better of it. She needed time away from him for these unnecessary feelings of attraction to disappear. G shut the truck door and looked back at Tim, whose eyes were fixed on the steering wheel. He was drumming his palms on the wheel in time to Dire Straits' 'Sultans of Swing' (her choice not his) and chewing his bottom lip absent-mindedly with adorably crooked teeth.

G cursed her subconscious and reminded herself that there was nothing cute about bad dentition.

'You know where Rachel lives?' Tim's drawl snapped her out of the reverie as he leaned towards her from the open window. G blinked a few times and folded her arms.

'Actually, nope.' Tim watched a flash of annoyance cross her face before he smirked. In truth, he'd enjoyed today. Tim never wanted to share the range with anyone, let alone someone he knew, but maybe he would suggest this again. Besides, she was a crack shot and a quick learner.

 _I'll pick you up, then._ The words were on the tip of his tongue but a particularly beautiful guitar solo interrupted his thoughts and the moment was gone. What would Rachel think if they showed up together? Something about picking a girl up for dinner, albeit with another family, seemed like a date, which obviously made Tim uncomfortable.

'47 Ashby Avenue. Her mom's a stickler for timing.' With that, Tim backed out of the parking lot and shot off, nerves a little frayed.

G watched his truck disappear and let out a breath she wasn't been aware she was holding. As she returned to her apartment, she tried to convince herself she was pleased that Tim hadn't offered to pick her up…

It was 6.55pm. G was sitting in the black town car that she was loaning from the Marshal Service, desperately missing her own Ford Mustang that was gathering dust in her dad's garage back in DC. She'd taken Tim's warning seriously and decided not to be late, as she so usually was. She'd parked across the street and taken a second to scope the area. Nice neighbourhood, predominantly families, no noise pollution and driveways full of hybrids. There were even a few white picket fences. G stepped out of the car and strolled across the road. Despite the fact that she liked Rachel, she was nervous. She didn't want to get close to anyone here yet that's exactly what she was doing and her morning with Tim hadn't helped her anxiety any.

G had made a quick call to her ASAC in the afternoon. He'd told her to chill out and that making friends was no bad thing. No one was in any immediate danger.

Yet.

G shook her head and cast the thought out of her head before plastering a friendly smile on her face. Her ASAC was right. She didn't know how long she was going to be here and she couldn't avoid socialising for the whole time. Maybe making friends wasn't that bad an idea…

G swept her long black curls off her face and straightened her signature leather jacket before knocking. She'd stuck with casual for this evening. Blue skinny jeans and a purple jumper. Not like she was looking to impress anybody…

'Hey hey, wondered when you were gonna show up.' The door had swung open to reveal Tim, out of breath, flushed and grinning widely in ripped blue jeans and a khaki army shirt. G didn't think she'd ever seen him so relaxed and unguarded. If anything, he was even more attractive like this than he was in full badass Marshal mode. His greeting was so informal that she almost pinched herself, wondering if this was really him or a programmed hologram. She settled for opening and shutting her mouth twice before muttering a 'hey'. She was ready for his usual smirk to appear, sure he'd seen straight through her, noticed her heart rate speed up. What she was not ready for was a cry of 'GO LONG' before an American football sailed through the very slim space between her head and the front door.

G shot back, plastering herself against the wall as Tim streaked past her, running blindly into the road and catching the ball quite impressively before it barrelled into her car across the street. Good thing no one had been driving around. Then again, Tim was known to be reckless.

'Nick, what has your grandma told you about throwing in the house?' Tim was strolling back to the house, idly flicking the ball from palm to palm. His words were reproachful but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

'My bad…' A sheepish looking kid emerged from inside the house to stand next to her. He looked around ten and was wearing a khaki army hoodie that matched Tim's shirt. 'Awesome catch though!' The boy grinned toothily up at Tim, the admiration for the Ranger evident in his innocent brown eyes. Tim smiled back and high fived Nick before handing him the ball back. G looked between the two and wondered. Who'd have though Tim Gutterson was good with children. It made her like him even more and her stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably like it had this morning. She stamped it down quickly.

'This is G. G this is Nick, Rachel's nephew.' The boy looked a lot like Rachel; G had almost expected it to be her son. She'd seen a picture of him on Rachel's desk but never asked about him. G resolved to ask Rachel more about her life. Nick looked shyly at G from under thick lashes and smiled politely.

'It's nice to meet you.' He muttered. Tim chortled quietly, not used to seeing Nick nervous.

'Good arm, kid.' G smiled down at the boy and stuck out her hand, which Nick shook politely.

'G!' Rachel appeared in the hallway, tea towel draped over her shoulder and a saucepan in her hands. She looked very homely, dressed in loose fitting black pants and a pink sweater, easy smile on her pretty face. G couldn't help but smile at her. Rachel grinned back.

'I see you've met Trouble.' She remarked.

G looked between Tim and Nick. 'Which one?' The two women shared a smirk.

'Come on in, I'll get you a drink.'

* * *

The rest of the evening passed in a warm haze. Rachel was an attentive host, Nick was funny and sweet and Rachel's mother, Tanya was hilarious, plying G with endless servings of hot lasagne and serving up lots of embarrassing stories from Rachel's childhood. G found herself having a great time despite herself, enjoying the easy company.

Tim was so relaxed here. He chatted relentlessly with Nick and swapped cheeky banter with Tanya. Tim had been coming to Rachel's every Sunday since he joined the Marshals. They were clearly very good friends who had each other's backs. Family, if anything. G was surprised at how welcomed she felt. Though she was seated next to Tim, the two of them swapped few words, just a couple of smiles. It was nice, seeing this soft side to him. She did her best not to watch him, but she almost couldn't help it. She felt like this version of him didn't surface very often.

G was almost sad to leave. Tanya sent her and Tim home with a box generously laden with pieces of her delicious treacle tart and Rachel extended the invitation to come again next week. Nick even hugged her goodbye. As G sat in her car on the way home, she felt warm inside in a way she hadn't felt for a long time. Not since before the incident in DC.

Tim woke up drenched in sweat at 3.05am. His breathing was erratic, his heart racing uncomfortably. His dream hadn't started off as a nightmare. It had started as a nice sepia replay of the night before. There were shots of him playing catch with Nick, drinking a beer with Rachel on her porch, eating Tanya's incredible cooking. Then there were shots of G. G shooting a gun at the range, her smile when she saw him with Nick. Her smile. The dream zoomed in on her face for some time and Tim was content in REM to dream about her.

But then her face changed, distorted suddenly to become nothing and then to become someone else altogether.

Tim didn't have this nightmare regularly, but it shook him up the worst. He couldn't really call it a nightmare; half of it at least was a precious memory. It was the second half, what he lived through after that was the nightmare. This dream dredged up all those merciless memories and left him feeling like he was drowning in his own blood, reminding him of all that he had lost, warning him of all he could still lose.

He tried to tell himself he didn't know what had brought it on but that was a lie. It was the same thing that always gave him this dream. Fear. Didn't matter what kind of fear or what situation it was in but he always saw _her face_ , he always relived _this memory_ when he was scared.

Tim tried to regulate his breathing. What exactly was he scared of though? Work was fine and he'd been doing pretty well with his PTSD recently. The only thing that had changed really was the new girl. More specifically, how he felt about her. Which wasn't to say much because he didn't really _know_ how he felt about her. Just that she was pretty. And that on an emotional level, not just a physical one, he wanted to get to know her. Was that it then? He was scared of getting feelings for someone? If Tim could punch himself, he would. This was ridiculous. He'd been to war, almost been blown up, he risked his life on a weekly basis what with Raylan getting him in all sorts of trouble and he hadn't had _this dream_ in months. It couldn't be because of G. It just couldn't.

Tim stood up and dressed in some joggers and a hoodie. Knowing there was no way he was going back to sleep now, he decided to do what he did best.

Run.

* * *

 _'_ _Tim! What are we doing here?' Leila's blue eyes were wide and concerned as she snuck a look around the side of the building they were pressing their backs to, making sure none of the sentries were walking nearby. Satisfied they were alone, she rounded on him, red hair making her look all that much angrier. He deserved it of course. Night was falling on their camp and he'd waited until she was walking to her camp before unceremoniously grabbing her arm and dragging her behind a training barrack._

 _Leila Masters was the only woman who'd ever really held his attention. She was beautiful, flaming auburn hair, intelligent eyes, and acerbic tongue. She was tough, easily able take on one of the bigger guys in the camp. And she had this smile that she reserved only for him and he knew it for a fact because she didn't look at anyone else like that – he'd kept watch. When she smiled at him it touched something deep inside his chest and made him feel things he never thought he'd feel. Not since his mama left or his daddy started drinking._

 _She made him feel worthy._

 _They were due to deploy tomorrow morning at 0600 and he knew if he didn't do this now, he'd regret it forever._

 _He crashed his lips into hers. It wasn't slow or romantic or pretty, it was a desperate kiss. Desperate to show her how he felt, desperately wanting her to feel the same. Truth be told, Tim was scared. He was 21 and about to be thrown into the turmoil of Afghanistan for the first time. He did a good job covering it up, but every time one of the vets wished him luck, his stomach roiled forebodingly. What good was luck right now? This, kissing Leila, was luck enough._

 _It took a second for her to overcome her shell shock. Tim had always been a favourite of hers. He was polite, humble despite being hugely talented and he was absolutely adorable. But they were going to war and everyone needed their head in the game. Starting something was inappropriate. Not to mention they'd only known each other six months and she was almost a decade older than him. He whispered her name breathlessly and she gave in._

 _They made love right there, against that wall by the border of trees, for anyone to see should they walk this way. It was harsh and needy and beautiful. Tim was inexperienced but that didn't stop him being good. It finished with her biting his shoulder, fingers tightly wound in his sandy blonde hair. They held each other for some time, the cover of darkness disguising the tears they both shed into each others clothing, overcome with some highly strung emotions that neither of them could articulate._

 _Tim would never forget that day._

 _His first._

 _His worst._

 _Riding the hours on the thrill of last night's memories. Swapping meaningful glances with Leila, looking beautiful as ever in full battle rattle. They didn't speak, hadn't even spoken last night. But they didn't need words to share their feelings. For the first time in a long time, Tim felt happy._

 _No matter how many bullets he put into the enemy, he was still happy, oblivious somehow to the horrors on all sides. The intolerable heat, even the sounds of screaming could not deter him. Looking back on it, the way he felt disgusted him but at that point, he floated like he was in a dream, like it was all a video game. As long as he had her in his sights, he was happy._

 _He was happy up until the second that her beautiful face was ripped apart._

 _IED._

Accident.

Tragedy.

Over the next few weeks, months, years, he would hear these words and they would remind him, over and over again of the way she smiled at him, seconds before her foot made a wrong step, causing the terrain beneath her to erupt like Vesuvius, taking her earthly form with it.

There was nothing left.

Tim stumbled through the rest of that tour blindly. Twelve months in the sandpit and he could barely remember it. All he could see behind his eyelids was her face. Leila Masters had attacked his senses for such a short time, and ruined his life.

 **Please R &R!**


	11. Chapter 11

**_Hello All! Again, muchas gracias for your reviews and PMs! I am beginning university again so I may not be able to update as frequently but do not fear, I will not forget this story. I'm so grateful that you guys have stuck with it and are enjoying it so please continue to R &R! Lots more angsty Tim in this chapter!_**

 ** _Sorry for any errors, I don't have a beta!_**

 _ **Disclaimer: I am not in any way affiliated with FX or Justified in any way. My work and my thoughts are mine alone, however in this chapter, I have used some of the original script.**_

G was glad she'd filed away a memory of Tim from last night because it was clear that the soft, funny version of him was long gone. In his place was an even moodier, snarkier, Monday-morning blues Tim. It was clear he hadn't slept well but he was exuding an unprecedented level of hostility, especially to her. She offered to buy him coffee and he gave her such a look of disdain that she actually had to step back from the force of it.

Art had also noticed the attitude and the Chief Deputy was not up for any sass this morning. His gastric reflux had given him ten shades of hell over the weekend and he was nursing a warm cup of honeyed tea – something Lesley was _making_ him drink in the hopes of settling his stomach. Suffice to say, it was not working.

'Tim.' He beckoned the young man into his office, unsurprised to see the stormy pout and drawn together eyebrows of 'angry, sleep deprived Tim'.

'Why don't you have a seat, son? Tell mama what ails you.' Art couldn't help but prod the bull a little. Where was the fun in his job otherwise?

Tim snarled and stomped his army regulation boot against the doorframe. 'Just put me on prisoner transport, Art.' Tim sounded in no mood for banter.

'Come now, kid. Nothing sarcastic to retort?' Tim rolled his eyes and Art could see the well-defined muscles in his jaw jump frustratedly. Art sighed. 'Alright fine, prisoner transport.' Some of the tension in Tim's shoulders eased.

'For the week.' Art had to say, he was amused by the absolute horror that dawned on Deputy Gutterson's face.

'Art! What the fu–'

'Tim, ya just said you wanted it.' Art grinned smugly and put his feet up on his desk, leaning back contentedly.

'For the goddamn day, not the fu-'

'Language, Tim.' Tim growled and turned on his heel.

'Shut the door behind ya.' Art began, but Tim was already gone, huffing to his desk to grab his jacket and baseball cap and then towards the exit, probably cussing the whole way. Art watched, entertained until Tim rudely swept past G who looked like she was carrying her body weight in coffee cups. Normally Tim, despite the sarcasm, was very well behaved. He was the kind of guy who held doors open at least. Today he was in such a mood that G almost collapsed as he rushed past her, not sparing her a glance at all. That was also weird because Art thought for sure Tim liked G, she was a pretty girl after all. Maybe something was really wrong with him? Maybe query PTSD? was turning into a full-blown PTSD attack. Maybe he shouldn't have sent Tim out on his own, should have been more considerate when calling him into his office.

Art pulled out his cell phone and slipped on the glasses that were hanging round his neck. Art wasn't good with this technology stuff and despite his daughter's best attempts, his texting was loathsomely slow. By the time he'd finished tapping away with one finger, G had entered, set down a cup of decaf and left.

 _If you need to talk, you know where I am._

Art waited for a reply that never came.

* * *

Tim's day passed in a blur. People, places, things all melded into one. Every sound however, was amplified. Cars braking, traffic news, the prison guard asking him to fill out the 9000th form of the hour, looking at him like he was an idiot because everything was so loud that he couldn't hone in on the guard's voice.

After the last drop off, Tim sat in his SUV for ten minutes, maybe an hour, what did it matter, time was relative, and tried to meditate. His therapist, the one the army had made him see, told him meditation could help still the furore in his head. So far it hadn't worked. Maybe Tim hadn't tried hard enough. Whatever. He was trying now.

He sat with his hands in his lap, breathing in for four and out for four and trying desperately to clear the sights and sounds and smells that were infiltrating his fragile mind. The dream last night had really shaken him up. Now all he could see was Leila. Everything reminded him of her. A shop sign the colour of her hair, the prison receptionist's floral perfume, G…especially G. She'd brushed past him this morning with a warm smile and the offer of coffee and Tim's stomach roiled, threatening to empty it's contents as he remembered Leila's smile seconds before she'd died.

This meditating shit was doing fuck all. He was just reflecting, wallowing in his emotions. The latest to surface was guilt that he was avoiding G but today he just had to get away from her. That's why he'd requested prison transport, why he pretended not to see her hurt expression as he all but pushed her out of the way as he fled the office.

Tim pressed his fingers against his eyes as the sound of a truck horn jarred his skull. He wanted to tell G why, wanted to make her see that it wasn't her, it was him. But she wouldn't understand and after the way he'd treated her, she probably wouldn't care. Tim was good at pushing people away, she may as well get used to it now.

Hours later, Tim was face down in a bar opposite his apartment when his phone rang. He ignored it. It rang again three times before the bartender, Tim's good friend Joe, answered it for him.

'This is Gutterson at the House of Very Inebriated. I'm not available to take your call but if you'd like to leave – oh. Well, yes sir, I'll put him on now…'

Joe thumped Tim upside the head so hard he almost fell off his stool.

'Jesus FUCK, Joe! What the fuck was that –'

'Your boss, asshole.' Tim blanched, which was a feat considering he was pretty pale anyway. He hesitantly took the phone and steeled himself before speaking.

'Art…what can I do for you at this sociable hour?'

'House of Inebriated huh?' Tim could hear the smile in Art's voice and he rolled his eyes out of reflex. 'I understand you're probably occupied, but I'm in need of some assistance. The big dude at the Veterans bar says we can't go in without, well, a veteran.' Tim smirked. It was rare that Art asked for his help.

'What do you want to go into the VFW for?' Tim drawled, downing the pint of water Joe had set out before him. He nodded his thanks and the bartender refilled it.

'There's a Givens who wants to see a Givens.'

Tim 'oh'd' and said he'd be there pronto.

'Tim, you best get someone else to drive you.'

'Will do, Chief.'

* * *

'Tim, did you drive here?' Art's incredulous voice sounded from the parking lot where Tim had just pulled up. G eyed him warily as he dismounted his truck and sashayed towards them, all swinging hips and easy grin in his casual red checked flannel shirt and low slung jeans.

'Does everyone in this state drink and drive?' She questioned Raylan, who was leaning against the railing, staring down the VFW bouncer.

'Pretty much.' He smirked at her expression. 'Guess they don't in DC.'

G snorted in response.

'You drunk Tim?' Raylan called.

'Gettin' there.' He countered before he saw G and froze. He'd been expecting just the Chief and Raylan, and then he'd expected another drink once he got inside. She was the last thing he expected to see. He waited for Leila's face to pop up, but surprisingly, she stayed buried in his memory. Obviously the bourbon had helped with this. All he saw was G's doe eyes, full of concern for his drunk-driving and her lovely figure caressed in tight black skinnies and fitted blazer jacket. Alcohol fuelled lust pooled in his stomach as he zeroed in on her, forgetting for a second that there were three witnesses to his unashamed staring. Luckily his instincts kicked in and he forced himself to concentrate on the situation at hand. No one appeared to have noticed his glazed eyes, or if they had, they put it down to drink.

'No admission, huh? Did you try flirting?' Tim pulled back his easy smirk as he came up with a characteristically witty comment.

'He was immune to my charms.' Raylan smirked back, pushing off the wall and coming to stand next to G who smiled despite herself.

'Said "heroes only".' Art chimed.

'Oh, ok. You show them your ass wound?' He heard G chuckle and reflexively looked at her. She was so pretty when she smiled, white teeth flashing brightly. Feeling a lot more confident now, he gave her a quick wink before looking back to Art. He didn't notice the surprise in G's eyes or the way she bit her lip.

'Well, I didn't think it was that kind of evening.'

'Isn't it always that kind of evening in these parts?' G raised an eyebrow mockingly. At Harlan or at them, Tim didn't know.

'Now now, no need to be judgmental. We are a cultured people.' Tim smirked at G as he responded to her comment, pleased to see her smirk back, pleased that she held eye contact for a second more than was strictly necessary.

'Well, shall we?' Art prodded. Tim dug his military ID out of his back pocket, glad he always kept it on him for these times of need.

'Evenin' soldier. Uh, I didn't bring my cape. I'm guessing this will suffice.'

They entered the VFW to G's laughter and Tim felt his chest swell a little that he had caused that beautiful sound.


End file.
